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Dawn's first light crept through the narrow window of Yennefer's chamber in Winterfell, casting long shadows across the stone floor. She stood before the ornate mirror Lord Stark had provided, methodically folding her collection of borrowed Northern garments. The thick wool dresses and fur-lined cloaks lay in neat piles on her bed.
"It's time," she murmured to herself, running her fingers along the rough fabric of a grey dress. "I've stayed far too long already."
Yet even as she spoke the words, her hands slowed in their task. Her reflection stared back at her, violet eyes troubled. In all her years of living, she had never found it this difficult to leave a place. Or perhaps, she admitted to herself, it wasn't the place at all, but rather a certain dark-haired young man with eyes that matched her own.
Jon Snow. The name alone was enough to make her pause, memories of their training sessions in the Godswood flooding back. The way his face lit up when he first conjured flame in his palm, the determined set of his jaw as he practiced, the gentle touch of his hands...
Yennefer shook her head sharply. "Focus," she chided herself. "You're not some lovesick girl."
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. "Enter," she called, expecting one of the servants with breakfast.
Instead, Arya Stark burst into the room, her hair disheveled as usual. "Lady Yennefer! I heard from Beth Cassel that you're leaving! Is it true?"
Yennefer couldn't help but smile at the girl's directness. "Nothing travels faster than gossip in a castle, I see."
"But you can't leave!" Arya protested, rushing forward. "Who's going to teach me about being a proper lady warrior? And what about Jon? He'll be devastated!"
The mention of Jon made Yennefer's heart clench. "Sometimes, little wolf, we must do things even when they're difficult."
"But why?" Arya demanded, crossing her arms. "Father likes you well enough, even if Mother doesn't. And Jon..." she trailed off, giving Yennefer a knowing look far too mature for her years.
"It's complicated, Arya," Yennefer replied, turning back to her packing. "I don't belong here. I have responsibilities elsewhere."
"That's what adults always say when they don't want to give a real answer," Arya grumbled.
Yennefer laughed despite herself. "You're too clever for your own good, you know that?"
A commotion in the courtyard drew their attention to the window. Below, the household was already bustling with activity. Stable boys led horses to water, servants hurried about with baskets of fresh bread and linens, and in the center of it all, Jon Snow was sparring with Robb Stark.
Yennefer found herself moving closer to the window, drawn by the sight. Jon moved with a natural grace, his sword gleaming in the morning light as he parried Robb's attacks. She could see the fire magic thrumming just beneath his skin, waiting to be released. It called to her own power, a siren song she found increasingly difficult to resist.
"He's different when you're around," Arya said quietly, coming to stand beside her. "Happier. Less brooding."
"Arya..."
"It's true! Even Sansa noticed, and she never notices anything about Jon."
Yennefer sighed, watching as Jon disarmed Robb with a clever twist of his blade. The brothers laughed, clapping each other on the back. The sight made her chest ache with an emotion she wasn't ready to name.
"There are things about Jon," she said carefully, "things that need to be understood. Questions that need answers."
Arya's grey eyes narrowed. "What kind of things?"
"The kind your father might know about," Yennefer replied, making a decision. "In fact, I think it's time I had a word with Lord Stark."
"About Jon?" Arya asked, suddenly serious. "Does this have to do with the strange things that happened in the Godswood?"
Yennefer raised an eyebrow. "What do you know about that?"
Arya shrugged, trying to look innocent and failing miserably. "I might have followed you once or twice. Jon was making fire without a torch! How did he do that?"
"That, little wolf, is exactly what I intend to find out." Yennefer moved away from the window, her mind made up. "Now, run along. I need to prepare for my meeting with your father."
"You'll tell me what he says?" Arya asked hopefully.
"If I can," Yennefer promised, ushering the girl toward the door. "Some secrets aren't mine to share."
After Arya left, Yennefer returned to the window. Jon was still in the courtyard, now demonstrating sword techniques to a group of younger boys. He moved with confidence, his instructions clear and patient. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up, their eyes meeting across the distance.
For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Jon's expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. Yennefer felt her own lips curve in response, even as her heart tightened painfully in her chest.
Then Ser Rodrik called Jon's attention back to the training, and the moment was broken. Yennefer stepped back from the window, her resolve strengthening.
"Before I leave," she whispered to herself, "I need to know the truth. For his sake, if nothing else."
She crossed to her traveling chest, retrieving a small vial of lilac and gooseberry perfume - one of the few possessions she'd brought from her world. As she dabbed it behind her ears, she carefully constructed her approach. Lord Stark was an honorable man, but he guarded his secrets well. She would need all her diplomatic skills to get the answers she sought.
A soft knock drew her attention to the door once more. "Yes?"
"It's Jon," his familiar voice called through the wood. "May I come in?"
Yennefer closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself. "Of course."
Jon entered, still flushed from his training session. His dark curls were damp with sweat, and his practice tunic clung to his broad shoulders. He hesitated just inside the doorway, taking in the partially packed belongings strewn about the room.
"So it's true then," he said quietly. "You're leaving."
The pain in his voice made her want to cross the room and take him in her arms. Instead, she forced herself to remain still. "Jon..."
"When were you going to tell me?" he asked, hurt evident in his tone. "Were you just going to disappear without saying goodbye?"
"Of course not," Yennefer replied, turning to face him fully. "I would never do that to you."
Jon's eyes roamed over her face, searching for something. "Then why are all your things packed?"
"Because sometimes we must make difficult choices," she said, echoing her words to Arya. "But I'm not gone yet. There are still matters I need to resolve."
"What matters?" Jon asked, taking a step closer.
Yennefer met his gaze steadily. "Questions that need answers. About you, Jon. About your power, and why your father seems to know more than he's telling."
Jon's eyes widened slightly. "You're going to ask him? But he never..."
"He'll tell me," Yennefer said with quiet determination. "One way or another, I'll get the truth before I leave."
Jon crossed the remaining distance between them, reaching for her hand. "And what if the truth changes things? What if..."
"Jon," she interrupted gently, squeezing his fingers. "Whatever the truth is, it won't change who you are. You must know that."
He nodded slowly, though uncertainty still clouded his features. "Will you at least wait until after today's training session? There's something I've been working on, something I want to show you."
Looking into his hopeful expression, Yennefer found herself nodding. "After the training session," she agreed. "But then I must speak with your father."
Jon's relief was palpable. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you, Yen."
As he turned to leave, Yennefer called after him. "Jon?" He paused at the door, looking back. "Whatever happens today, know that meeting you has been... extraordinary."
A small smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained troubled. "As have you, Yen. As have you."
After he left, Yennefer returned to her packing with renewed purpose. She would get her answers today, one way or another. Lord Stark might be the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, but she was Yennefer of Vengerberg. And she had never let anyone stand between her and the truth she sought.
.
.
The solar of Winterfell's lord was warmer than the rest of the castle. Yennefer stood before Lord Stark's desk, watching as he finished reading a letter, his grey eyes moving methodically across the parchment. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling of the flames.
Finally, Ned Stark wrote something, set down the letter, and looked up at her. "Lady Yennefer," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I understand you're planning to leave Winterfell."
"That was my intention," Yennefer replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "However, there are matters we need to discuss first."
"About Jon," Ned said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes." Yennefer moved closer to his desk, her violet eyes never leaving his face. "You know why he can touch fire? Why he's immune to its touch?"
Ned's expression remained impassive, but Yennefer caught the slight tightening around his eyes. "Jon is my son," he said firmly. "That's all that matters."
"Is he?" Yennefer challenged, arching an eyebrow. "Because I've seen magic in many forms, Lord Stark. But Jon's power... it's different. And you know why."
A log shifted in the hearth, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. Ned watched them for a long moment before speaking. "What exactly are you implying, my lady?"
"I'm not implying anything," Yennefer said, her tone sharpening. "I'm asking you directly - who is Jon Snow's mother? And why can he touch fire?"
Ned stood abruptly, moving to stare into the flames. "You're treading dangerous ground, Lady Yennefer."
"And you're avoiding my questions," she countered. "I've seen how you watch him during training. The worry in your eyes isn't just that of a father for his son. It's fear. Fear of what he might become. Of who might discover what he is."
Ned's shoulders tensed. "You don't understand what you're asking."
"Then help me understand," Yennefer pressed, softening her tone. "I care for Jon. I want to help him. But I can't do that if I don't know their source."
Ned turned back to face her, and for the first time, Yennefer saw real anguish in his eyes. "Some truths are better left buried," he said quietly. "For everyone's safety."
"Everyone's safety?" Yennefer repeated, her mind racing. "Or Jon's safety?"
Something flickered across Ned's face - pain, perhaps, or guilt. "Both."
Yennefer stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The Targaryens," she said, watching his reaction carefully. "They were known for their connection to fire and dragons. And their distinctive features - silver hair, purple eyes..."
"Enough!" Ned's voice cracked like a whip. His hand gripped the back of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You speak of things you don't understand."
"Then make me understand," Yennefer insisted. "Jon's eyes are purple, Lord Stark. Like mine. Like the Targaryens of old. That's no coincidence, is it?"
Ned was silent for a long moment, and Yennefer could almost see the war being waged behind his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I tell you this, you must swear by whatever gods you hold dear that it never leaves this room. Jon's life depends on it."
Yennefer felt her heart skip a beat. "You have my word," she said solemnly.
Ned sank back into his chair, suddenly looking older than his years. "His mother... she made me promise to protect him. With her dying breath, she made me swear."
"Who was she?" Yennefer asked softly.
"My sister," Ned replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Lyanna."
Yennefer's eyes widened as pieces began falling into place. "Lyanna Stark... who was supposedly kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen."
Ned nodded slowly. "She wasn't kidnapped. She went willingly. They were in love, and they married in secret."
"Making Jon..."
"The true heir to the Iron Throne," Ned finished grimly. "And if Robert ever discovered this truth..."
"He would kill him," Yennefer realized. "The man who started a war over Lyanna would never let Rhaegar's son live."
"Now you understand why this must remain secret," Ned said. "Even from Jon himself. At least until he's ready."
Yennefer processed this information, her mind working furiously. "He can touch fire... it's his Targaryen blood awakening."
"Yes," Ned acknowledged. "Though I've never seen anything like what he can do. Even the Targaryens of old weren't immune to fire as he seems to be."
"Perhaps it's because the magic in his blood has been dormant for so long," Yennefer mused. "Like a river dammed up, growing stronger behind the barriers until they finally break."
"Which is why I'm grateful you've been helping him control it," Ned admitted. "Though I fear what might happen if others notice his abilities."
Yennefer straightened, making a decision. "I'll stay," she declared. "Help him master these powers before they become too obvious to hide."
Ned studied her face carefully. "And what of your own world? Your own responsibilities?"
"They can wait," Yennefer said firmly. "Jon's safety is more important right now."
A ghost of a smile touched Ned's lips. "You care for him deeply, don't you?"
"More than I should, perhaps," Yennefer admitted. "But that makes me all the more determined to protect him."
"Then we have that in common, at least." Ned rose, moving to pour them both cups of wine. "But remember your promise, Lady Yennefer. This truth must remain buried until the time is right."
Yennefer accepted the cup, her mind already turning to Jon and how this revelation would affect their training. "You have my word, Lord Stark. Though I suspect you still haven't told me everything."
Ned's expression remained carefully neutral as he sipped his wine. "There are some secrets that must remain buried even deeper than others, my lady. For now, what I've told you will have to suffice."
Yennefer nodded, though she could sense there was more - much more - that Ned Stark wasn't revealing. But she had learned enough for now. Jon's Targaryen heritage explained much about his powers, though perhaps not everything. As she took her leave of the solar, her thoughts were already turning to their upcoming training session, and how this new knowledge might help her guide him better.
One thing was certain - her decision to stay had just become much more complicated, and much more important.
.
.
Jon arrived at the Godswood early, the crisp morning air biting at his cheeks. The heart tree's carved face seemed to watch him with particular intensity today, its red sap tears appearing fresher than usual. He paced before it, his mind churning with thoughts of Yennefer's impending departure.
"You're here already," Yennefer's voice cut through his brooding. She emerged from between the trees, looking somehow different than she had that morning. There was a new knowledge in her violet eyes that Jon couldn't quite read.
"Couldn't stay away," Jon replied, attempting a smile. "Not when it might be our last session."
Yennefer's expression softened. "About that, Jon... things have changed. I've spoken with your father."
Jon's heart skipped a beat. "What did he tell you?"
"Enough to know that staying to help you control these powers is more important than I realized," she said carefully. "But the details... those aren't mine to share."
Frustration bubbled up in Jon's chest. More secrets, more things being kept from him. "Why does everyone treat me like a child who can't handle the truth?" he burst out, flames suddenly dancing along his fingertips unbidden.
Yennefer noticed but didn't comment on the display. "It's not about handling the truth, Jon. It's about timing. And safety."
"Safety?" Jon scoffed, the flames growing brighter. "I'm tired of being safe. Of being the bastard who has to be grateful for whatever scraps of information people deign to give him."
"Jon..." Yennefer started, but he cut her off.
"No! I'm not a child anymore. I have these powers - powers I don't understand, powers that terrify and excite me in equal measure. And now you're leaving too, just like everyone else who might have answers!"
The flames had spread now, racing up his arms but not burning his clothing. Jon barely noticed, too caught up in his emotional outburst.
"I'm not leaving," Yennefer said firmly. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. After speaking with your father, I've decided to stay."
Jon froze, the flames flickering uncertainly. "What?"
"I'm staying," she repeated, taking a step closer. "You need guidance, Jon. More than ever."
Relief flooded through him, but it was quickly followed by suspicion. "What did Father tell you that changed your mind? What do you know that I don't?"
Yennefer's expression was pained. "Jon, please understand. There are things I've sworn not to reveal. But know this - you are more important than you realize. Your powers aren't a curse or a mistake. They're your birthright."
Something about that word - birthright - struck a chord deep within Jon. The flames surrounding his arms suddenly flared brilliant white, startling them both.
"Jon?" Yennefer's voice held a note of concern he'd never heard before.
But Jon barely heard her. He felt something awakening inside him, something powerful. The flames weren't just around him anymore - they were part of him, flowing through his veins like liquid fire. His consciousness expanded, and suddenly he could feel every flame in Winterfell - from the great hearth in the Great Hall to the smallest candle in the maester's tower.
"This is..." he gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations. "I can feel them all, Yen. Every fire in Winterfell. They're... they're singing to me."
Yennefer's eyes widened. "That's impossible. Even the most powerful fire mages can't sense flames at that distance, let alone connect with them."
Jon wasn't listening. Acting on pure instinct, he reached out with his mind and touched one of the distant flames - a torch in the courtyard. To his amazement, it responded, flaring brightly before extinguishing completely. He reached for another, then another, watching through his newfound sense as fires throughout the castle danced to his will.
"Seven hells," Yennefer breathed, watching as Jon's eyes began to glow with an inner fire. "Jon, what you're doing... it's unprecedented."
The power was intoxicating. Jon felt invincible, connected to something larger than himself. The white flames surrounding him took shape, forming wings of pure fire that stretched out from his shoulders. The heat was incredible, yet the grass at his feet remained unfrosted, the snow unmelted.
Yennefer approached slowly, her own magical senses overwhelmed by the raw power emanating from him. "Jon, you need to control it. This much power... it could consume you."
Her words penetrated the haze of power, and Jon realized she was right. He could feel the fire trying to take over, trying to burn away his humanity and replace it with pure elemental force. With tremendous effort, he began pulling the power back, reining it in.
The wings of flame flickered and disappeared. The glow faded from his eyes, though tiny embers still danced in their purple depths. All across Winterfell, fires returned to their normal state. Jon stumbled, suddenly exhausted, and Yennefer caught him before he could fall.
"That was..." he panted, leaning heavily against her.
"Incredible," Yennefer finished. "And terrifying. Jon, what you just did... I've never seen anything like it. Even in my world, such control over fire is merely legend."
Jon looked up at her, still trying to process what had happened. "Is this why you're staying? Because you know what I am?"
Yennefer helped him sit on a nearby rock, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "I'm staying because you need someone who understands magic to help you control these abilities. But more than that..." she paused, choosing her words carefully. "I'm staying because I care about you, Jon Snow. More than I should, perhaps."
Jon's heart raced at her words, and he felt the fire inside him respond, warming pleasantly rather than burning. "I care about you too, Yen. When I thought you were leaving..."
"I know," she said softly, cupping his cheek. "But I'm here now. And we'll figure this out together."
As they sat there in the Godswood, the heart tree watching over them, Jon felt both exhausted and exhilarated. The power he'd touched was still there, simmering beneath his skin, but now he understood it better.
"Will you help me understand?" he asked quietly.
Yennefer's eyes held a mixture of affection and sadness. "As much as I can, Jon. Some answers will have to come from your father when he's ready to give them. But I promise you this - you're not alone anymore."
Jon nodded, feeling the truth of her words. Whatever secrets still surrounded his birth and his powers, at least now he had someone to help him navigate them. Someone who saw him not as Ned Stark's bastard, but as himself - Jon Snow, with all his complexities and powers.
"Thank you," he whispered, leaning into her touch. "For staying. For everything."
.
.
The walk back from the Godswood felt different to Jon. Every torch they passed seemed to reach for him, the flames dancing in greeting. He could still feel them all, though not as intensely as before - more like a gentle awareness than the overwhelming connection he'd experienced earlier.
"You're still connected to them, aren't you?" Yennefer asked, noticing his distraction. She walked close beside him, her hand occasionally brushing against his.
"Yes," Jon admitted. "It's like... like hearing distant music. I can't make out the melody clearly, but I know it's there."
They paused in an empty corridor, and Yennefer turned to face him fully. "What you did out there, Jon... it was beyond anything I've ever seen."
Jon leaned against the cold stone wall, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I still don't understand how I did it. It was like something inside me just... awakened."
"The power was always there," Yennefer said softly, stepping closer. "It just needed the right moment to emerge." Her violet eyes studied his face intently. "How do you feel now?"
"Tired," Jon admitted. "But also... more alive than ever. Like I've finally found a piece of myself I didn't know was missing."
A group of servants passed by, forcing them to lower their voices. Jon noticed how they whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances his way. Word of the strange occurrences with the castle's fires must have already spread.
"We should be more careful," he muttered. "People will talk."
"Let them talk," Yennefer replied, though she did step back slightly. "But you're right - we need to be strategic about your training from now on. What you can do... it could make you a target."
The worry in her voice made Jon's chest tighten. "The Wild Hunt?" he asked, remembering her earlier warnings.
"Among others," she said grimly. "Power like yours... it draws attention. Not all of it welcome."
As if to emphasize her point, a cold draft swept through the corridor, making the nearby torches flicker. Jon felt something else too - a presence, dark and watching, just at the edge of his awareness.
"Yen," he said quietly, "I don't think we're alone."
Yennefer tensed, her hand moving subtly to where she kept a hidden dagger. "Inside. Now." She pushed open the door to an unused chamber, ushering Jon inside before following and securing the door behind them.
The room was dark save for a single candle burning on a dusty table. Jon reached out with his newfound sense, connecting with the tiny flame and making it grow brighter, illuminating the space.
"There's something out there," he said, his voice low. "I can feel it... like a shadow moving between the flames."
Yennefer moved to the room's single window, peering out at the gathering dusk. "The Wild Hunt isn't subtle - they announce their presence with ice and terror. This is something else."
"Could it be... more like me?" Jon asked hesitantly. "Someone else with fire magic?"
"No," Yennefer said firmly. "What you have is unique, Jon. Which is why we need to be very careful about who knows the full extent of your abilities."
Jon nodded, though something about her tone made him suspicious. "You know more than you're telling me, don't you? About what I am, about these powers?"
Yennefer turned to face him, conflict clear in her expression. "I gave your father my word, Jon. Some truths must wait."
Frustration welled up inside him, and the candle flame flared in response. "I'm tired of waiting! These are my powers, my life!"
"Jon," Yennefer said sharply, grabbing his hands. "Listen to me. Yes, there are things you don't know yet. Things about your heritage, about why you have these abilities. But revealing them now could put you in danger."
"What kind of danger?" he demanded. "I'm stronger now. I can protect myself."
"Can you?" she challenged. "You've had one impressive display of power, yes. But control? Experience? Strategy? These take time to develop."
"So what do we do?" he asked finally after a moment of silence.
"We train," Yennefer said firmly. "In secret, away from prying eyes. You learn to master every aspect of your power. And when the time is right, when you're ready, you'll learn everything."
Jon studied her face, seeing the genuine concern there. "And you'll stay? Help me with all of this?"
"I'll stay," she confirmed, squeezing his hands. "Though it may complicate things."
"What do you mean?"
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Our... connection, Jon. These feelings between us. They're real, and they're growing stronger. That could be dangerous too."
Jon's heart raced at her words. Impulsively, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I don't care about the danger," he whispered. "When I'm with you, I feel... complete."
Yennefer's breath hitched, and for a moment, Jon thought she might kiss him. Instead, she pulled back slightly, though her hands remained clasped with his. "We need to be careful," she repeated, but her voice was softer now. "Both with your powers and with... this."
Before Jon could respond, a sound from the corridor made them both freeze. Heavy footsteps, too heavy for a normal guard, passed by their door. The temperature in the room plummeted, and frost began forming on the window panes.
Jon instinctively reached for the flames again, ready to defend them if needed. But Yennefer placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Don't," she whispered. "It might sense your power."
They stood in tense silence until the footsteps faded and the temperature began to normalize. Only then did Yennefer release her grip on Jon's arm.
As suddenly as it had come, the cold presence retreated. The temperature in the room gradually returned to normal, and Jon felt the oppressive weight of being watched lift from his shoulders.
"It's gone," he said, still keeping his voice low. "Whatever it was."
Yennefer nodded, though she remained tense. "For now. But it won't be the last time we sense them." She turned to face him fully. "Jon, there might be someone who can help us. Someone from my world who has experience with this kind of magic and the Wild Hunt."
"Who?"
"His name is Geralt of Rivia. He's a witcher - a monster hunter with his own kind of magic. If anyone knows how to handle this situation, it would be him."
Jon's brow furrowed. "But how could we possibly contact him? You said he's in your world."
A small smile played at Yennefer's lips. "I'm not without my own considerable talents, Jon Snow. It will take time, and I'll need to work on strengthening my magic here, but it's possible. We're not in immediate danger - we still have time to prepare."
"Are you sure?" Jon asked, concerned by the earlier presence they'd felt.
"Yes," she said firmly. "The Wild Hunt is powerful, but they're also patient. They wouldn't have revealed themselves if they were planning an immediate attack. We'll use this time to train, to prepare. And hopefully, to contact Geralt."
Jon nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. "Then we should get started."
---
Far from the snow-covered lands of the North, in a vast desert where the sun beat down mercilessly on endless dunes, a figure stood motionless atop a sandy ridge. The Wild Hunt's skeletal armor seemed out of place in the desert, but wherever he stood, the sand beneath his feet crystallized into ice, and snowflakes began to fall from previously cloudless skies.
His hollow gaze was fixed on a distant castle, its golden towers rising proudly against the horizon, and the spear on top of the highest tower pierced the sun. Around him, the temperature continued to drop, creating an expanding circle of winter in the heart of the desert.
Five more figures materialized beside him, their armor identical to his own. They spoke in their ancient, guttural language, their voices carrying on the freezing wind.
"Another has awakened," the first Hunt said in their tongue.
"Yes," another replied. "We feel it. The fire burns strong in this one as well."
"Two prizes instead of one," a third added, satisfaction evident even in their otherworldly speech. "The King will be pleased."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching as their unnatural winter spread across the dunes. Their presence had turned the scorching desert into a frozen wasteland, and still, the snow continued to fall.
"We will hunt them both," the first Hunt declared. "But patience. Let them grow stronger. Let them learn to wield their power."
"And then?" the others asked in unison.
"And then," the first Hunt's hollow voice carried a note of cruel anticipation, "the real hunt begins."
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